The Ritual
And so begins another medicine week, chez Alverda. “Medicine week” sounds like some kind of Southwestern religious festival, but it just means that the old kitty has to take medicine Monday-Friday every other week, for the forseeable future. It’s been over a year now so it’s not terribly traumatic anymore - for one thing she has no sense of a viable hiding place so it’s easy to catch her, and she usually takes it like a trooper once seized - but it means a week of long, drawn-out dinners because it takes away her appetite. The first dinner attempt she has no competition, since the bad kitty is eating in a closed room, but as the evening progresses there’s usually 2nd, 3rd and even 4th dinner when the bowl of prescription canned K/D comes back out of the fridge and the old girl slowly noshes, the bad kitty attempts to muscle her way to the bowl, and I sit there shoving the kitty away. Eventually the old cat has had enough - giving what I thought was an “I can’t take it anymore” anguished look, but my sister claims is more of the “bish plz” stare, before running away - and either the bowl goes back in the fridge, or I call time and dump the last bits in the trash. Good times.
